


let loss reveal it

by owlvsdove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post-HYDRA Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who are you trying to call?"</p>
<p>"My ex-girlfriend."</p>
            </blockquote>





	let loss reveal it

 

_Pick up._

Trip is working the computer, trying to get Agent Weaver, or Coulson, or anyone back on the screen. His motions are steady but he’s humming with the same frenetic thing that’s shaking Jemma’s hands uncontrollably.

_Pick up. Pick up pick up pick up_.

“Damn,” he mutters.

“Who were you trying to call?” she asks, though she still has her cell jammed to one ear and her finger to the other, trying to drown out the outside commotion.

“My cousin. She’s an Ops agent at the Triskelion,” he says. “Who are you trying to call?”

“My ex-girlfriend.”

Trip’s eyebrows shoot heavenward. “I don’t know if this is the time to make any love confessions. We’re haven’t reached that point of desperation yet today.”

She shakes her head. “She’s also an Ops agent at the Triskelion. I’m trying to get some information.”

_Pick up. Hell, Sharon. Pick up._

“Cross your fingers,” she orders.

He smiles, despite the situation. He does as told.

 

 

 

 

“So, why is the ex an ex?”

“We just…grew apart.”

 

 

 

 

“What’s her name?”

“Hmm?” She looks up from the glass she’s half-heartedly sweeping up.

“The girl you were trying to call.”

Fitz looks up from where he’s helping Skye rewire the internal computers. “Sharon?”

Jemma repeats it: “Sharon.”

“Sharon Carter?”

“The one and only.”

Trip smiles, looks away.

“What?”

“It’s a small world,” he tells her.

 

 

 

 

“She’s probably free now,” he says knowingly, just a moment later.

Jemma wrings her hands.

 

 

 

 

“I feel like I should’ve known,” Sharon says, picking up the phone without a greeting like she always does. “That Trip got moved to your team.”

“Are you alright?” Jemma asks, pressing the phone harshly to her face.

“My grandmother’s legacy is destroyed, and I got cut by a neo-Nazi. Otherwise my day’s been peachy.”

“Please tell me you--”

“I got it stitched up,” Sharon finishes. Jemma closes her eyes. Sometimes she forgets just how well Sharon knows her. It feels strange to be out in the world while someone who carried a torch fearlessly into the deepest part of her also is wandering the earth, away from her and alone.

“Are you okay?” Sharon asks. “Maria talked to Phil, but—”

“I’m okay.”

The words come out of her lips automatically but they are just the barest eggshells, hollow and crumbling at the touch.

And Sharon knows it.

“Oh, Jem,” she sags.

Jemma shoves all of her sobs into her fist, pressed white-knuckled against her lips, cutting against her teeth, bone-shattering.

“It’s okay,” Sharon says. And that makes Jemma feel worse. Because Sharon’s lost so much today, and now she has to comfort a former-something who’s too soft for the real world, too petty and small and weak.

“I didn’t see this coming,” streams out of Jemma’s mouth, high and hysteric.

“No one did, Jemma. No one but _them_.”

Jemma shudders a big, stuttering breath. “I can’t believe this happened.”

“Me either,” Sharon whispers. Jemma can see it – her in her dark little apartment, sitting on the floor against the wall, finally letting herself sink down into the blackest sea.

Suddenly Jemma feels a need so strong her stomach tightens to aching, curling her into an anguished little comma, an inchworm. She almost roars aloud, teeth gritted against sound. All she wants is to be where Sharon is, to feel her sigh into Jemma’s neck.

“I’m so sorry, Sharon,” she whispers. Because that’s all she has.

“I’m glad Trip was there,” Sharon responds, half a touch too fast. She’s usually a lot more controlled. “I’m glad he was there with you when—when it happened.”

“If I had known he was your cousin I wouldn’t have doubted him for a second.”

“Ah, you know. Trip likes to brag. I—”

“Don’t,” Jemma finishes.

“Not about her.”

“You love to brag about other things, though,” Jemma says, the obviousness of her joke feeling brash against them.

“You’re one to talk.”

Jemma feels herself calm down a little, sniffling and wet. “So. You got knifed. Did anything else happen?”

Jemma’s afraid of the answer, but it turns out Sharon only wants to answer a different question. “He doesn’t trust me,” she says quietly.

Jemma nods, even though Sharon can’t see that. She can understand his feelings, though. “How is he?”

The air on Sharon’s side of the line seems to freeze. “He’s in the hospital, but he’s alive.”

“That’s not really what I meant.”

Sharon is quiet for a long time. “I don’t have another answer.”

“He’s Captain America. He’ll be okay.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Jem. He shouldn’t be okay right now.”

“You shouldn’t be either.”

She huffs a rueful little laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m not.”

Jemma focuses hard on trying to breathe.

“God,” Sharon chokes. “I wish you were here.”

“Me too,” Jemma whispers.

Sharon coughs and tries to remember the last several hours.

“I’m glad you’re safe.” She sucks in a hard breath. “But I should go now.”

“Okay."

“I just…I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I’m glad you’re safe too.”

_Safe_ is the only word that still describes them both without trying to make light of the situation. And it’s so temporary a state.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Sharon says. Jemma feels so strongly that she means it and so strongly that she should do the opposite. She swallows a desperately confused _I love you_.

“Bye, Sharon.”

“Bye, Jemma.”

 

 

 

 

“You should’ve said something,” Jemma says quietly. Trip’s found her with a drink and she tries to muster something in her that feels ashamed.

“She doesn’t like talking about family,” he explains.

“Sharon straddles the line between being full of pride for her family history and wanting to stand on her own two feet.”

“I try not to take it personally.”

She smiles.

“How is she?” he asks.

“You spoke to her just before me.”

“Yeah, but Sharon likes to put on a brave face. So do you.”

“No offense, Trip, but you barely know me.”

“She told me that.”

That’s more fair an assessment, then.

“She also told me that you need someone to look out for you.” Jemma raises an eyebrow. “She said, _Cuz, Jemma Simmons has millions of adoring fans but very few real friends._ ”

Jemma furrows her brow. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

“I might’ve embellished.”

She smiles again.

“I’m just saying, your resident Oversized Friend is out for a while. I could always fill in.”

“On a trial basis, of course,” she teases.

“We’ll take it day by day.”

She scrubs the distraught tension from her eyes, giving in.

“You’re hired.”

And the lug pierces the air with his fist like he’s just won something sweet.

 

 

 

 

_Your cousin has decided to be my new best friend,_ she texts Sharon that night when she can’t sleep. _I assume you’re not responsible for this?_

The response is immediate.

_You’re a Carter family magnet._

Jemma sighs, closes her eyes against Sharon’s ineffable _something_ as it hits her from miles and miles away.

And the ache settles in again.

  


 


End file.
